


wolves and lovers alike

by hurryup



Series: agon [2]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Bathing/Washing, M/M, Morning After, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 17:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12940491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurryup/pseuds/hurryup
Summary: “What's going on here, exactly?” He asked. He looked down, fiddling with the zipper of his day-old jeans. “I'm just — I'm just confused.”Kanda was quiet for several long seconds. Allen heard the sound of the dresser door thudding shut.“We had sex.”“Sex,” Allen repeated. The word echoed through him, too heavy. He reached for his socks, pulling them slowly over his cold feet. “Okay. Is that all?”.A prince, a raven, a swan, and an old mistake made right. Or; Allen wakes up.





	wolves and lovers alike

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dimrooms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimrooms/gifts).



 

_Dance, dance otherwise we are lost._

Allen woke to the sensation of Link's lips moving against his cheek.

“What,” Allen said blearily, but the will to keep speaking quickly escaped him, the words fleeing like footsteps. Moving hazily out of sleep, he shifted restlessly against the mattress.

He was still naked, he realized, the sheets sliding over his bare body without resistance; a silky, liquid glide. He reached out blind in the semi-darkness, touching Link's shoulder. Link was dressed. Dressed and warm. The hair falling over his shoulder was damp and sweet-smelling.

“I have rehearsal,” he said. He brushed Allen's hand off his shoulder gently, coaxing Allen back down into bed. “You can go back to sleep, alright?”

Sleep. The word stuck in Allen, knotted itself deep his stomach. It's a heavy thought, but an enticing one. He fell back against the pillow, reaching out vaguely — he could still feel Kanda's warmth, so near to him, his bare back, the even rise and fall of his breathing.

He wanted to turn away, to fall back into the dark. But something was burning at the back of his mind. Something big and bright and urgent. It comes to him in a piecemeal sadness, first Link, then stay, then please. He opened his mouth to speak, to let this free — but Link silenced him, lifting Allen's hands to brush his lips over his knuckles.

“I stayed,” Link said, as though pleading. Bargaining. “I stayed as long as I could — don't worry, don't worry. I'll see you... you, at, at...”

He fumbled his words, looking lost, then seemed to abandon them. He manipulated the palm of Allen's hand up, pressing a frustrated kiss to the center. It was a beautiful gesture. Truly. Allen felt an explosion of affection in his chest, warm, and wanton, and forever.

“Sleep, Allen,” Link said.

And there was no resisting this request, not when it was so beautifully made, and so sweetly inviting. Allen curled back back into bed, a dream beginning at the far end of his mind. Something soft and warm, something sweet, but... but also bitter, in some way he couldn't quite yet understand. Like the hot chocolate Mana would prepare for Allen when he was sad, so many years ago; a taste that had fled from Allen's life so many years ago.

In the distance, in some other reality, Allen could hear the faint sounds of Kanda and Link whispering through the darkness.

“Making your escape? How very like you.”

“I'm not _running_.”

“Yeah, yeah, _sure_. Why don't you just fuckin'—”

“Kanda. Kanda. Listen. This... I don't, I don't want this to be over, okay?”

The rustling of sheets, Kanda's body moving up against the mattress, warmth fading.

“Wish I could believe that.”

“Kanda,” Link sounded helpless. “Just go back to sleep, just, I need to go. I'll see you later. I need to go.”

Allen breathed long and even against the pillow. His waking mind was grasping at nothingness, fighting to listen in on those last few moments of darkness. A long silence, the rustle of sheets. The distinct but difficult-to-describe sound of kissing. A panting breath. Familiar.

“Go,” Kanda said.

And that was the last thing Allen heard before tumbling down, down into the black nothing of sleep.

 

  
♦♢♦

 

  _Dance, dance otherwise we are lost._

It was Pina Bausch who'd first said that, Allen knew. That most mysterious of dance masters, that woman full of urgent emotion. Allen wasn't Link, burdened by tradition, motivated by theory, or Lavi, with his plasticized letters and atavistic dedication to history, but he knew a thing or two. Knew this.

He knew the words, yes. What he _didn't_ know was why they were coming to him now, or from where, or why. Perhaps he'd been dreaming of them. It wasn't unusual for him to dream of dancing; after all, so much of his waking life was navigated through movement, centered within his own body.

_Otherwise we are lost._

When Allen came to for the second time, it was to a cold bed. That cold was the first real, tangible thing he registered — the next, a wan, early sunlight. Pale and pretty and blinding, it streamed through the half-open curtains. It demanded, commanded his eyes to _open_.

The curtains framing the windows were yellow. Not Allen's favourite colour, yellow, not by a longshot, and especially not when embroidered with the most _hideous_ paisley pattern. Perhaps it was odd, to suddenly be struck with such an intensely mundane awareness. To focus on something so ordinary. But Allen was engrossed by them, these curtains, the way they filtered light, the lurid colour of them. Because they were not his curtains. And this was not his bed. And this was not his room.

 However, it was a room he recognized. A room he remembered.

This was Kanda's hotel room. And this was Kanda's bed.

Allen rolled onto his back and looked up to the ceiling fan, which whirred silently overheard. The details flooded back into him, sure and steady as the fanblades spun. There was a musky, unclean smell to the bed. Sweat and spend. An ache in his bones, different from his ballet aches. And his clothes — they were lying shucked across the room in a heap.

The feeling that went through him then wasn't... displacement, not exactly. But it was something _lost_. Unbalanced.

They'd fucked. Not the end of the world, of course, but. But Link, he'd asked Link to stay, and Kanda, he'd, he'd said—

A cool breeze slipped over Allen's naked shoulders, and he shivered.

God. He missed Kanda and Link already, if only because they were warm, and he was not.

Slowly, he struggled up onto his elbows, looking about the room, seeking them out. The sheets around him were rumpled, turned over. Neither Kanda nor Link was anywhere in sight.

He remembered, then, that moment of hazy wakefulness — how many hours ago had that been? A quick glance to the bedside digital clock told him it was 7:37 AM. It had still been dark when Link had gone.

Link was gone. But... he'd woken Allen up first. Did that count as staying?

Allen mulled it over — but no, no. This was a question for later. First, clothes. Phone. And _Kanda_. Where had that wild thing gone?

He crawled out of bed and ambled towards his clothes, pulling his underwear and pants up his legs. Across from him, Kanda's shoes were still scuffed up lazily against the mat. Still in the hotel, maybe.

His phone was still in the pocket of his pants, still lit up and charged, thank God. He swiped it open with clumsy figures, and his schedule jumped to life. Rehearsal with Cross at 8 AM. Well, that wouldn't do. He moved hurriedly to fire a text off to Cross, _Something came up, reschedule for 9:30?_

Hideously unprofessional? Yes, and sloppy to the point of being practically unheard of within their field. But this was Cross, the paragon of sloppiness. And Cross _loved_ showing up late, whenever, wherever. One of many qualities, Allen knew, that enraged Neah.

 _Unfaithfulness,_ of course _,_ being another.

Still shirtless, still sockless, Allen padded across the hotel room with a sort of detached curiosity. Since landing in Montreal, this had been Kanda's space, his sanctum. There was proof of that here and there. Backed up against the closet, for example, was a scuffed up pair of dance shoes, creamy brown leather cracked and faded at the toes. There was a nondescript duffel bag lying haphazard against the dresser, Kanda's dance bag, half-unzipped with some clothes poking out. A yoga mat spread out on the floor. The hotel chairs — large and hard with red rounded seats — had been backed against the vacant spaces of the wall. They didn’t look as if anybody had ever sat in them. 

Plain curious, Allen went to the mini-fridge at the far end of the room and peeked inside. Tofu, cold brew coffee, two old Styrofoam containers of what looked like Chinese. A near-empty carton of unsweetened soy milk. A couple cans of beer.

None of it looked particularly appetizing, but it was all very _Kanda_ , and Allen took an odd kind of pleasure in that discovery.

There was a closet by the door, mostly empty save for a tidy gray coat, and a wide dresser that Allen left untouched out of respect. Then he came to the bathroom door. The handle was warm to the touch — and through the partition at the bottom of the door, Allen could see the lights were on. He knocked, once. Twice. No response.

Cautiously, he turned the handle, opening the door up to a barrage of light and heat. And the fucking steam. Allen was hit with a barrage of steam, thick, hot, and heavy with the balmy sweetness of peach blossoms.

And there was Kanda.

He was lying in the tub with water up to his shoulders, ankles resting up on the far end. His long hair spilled over one sturdy shoulder, some of it floating dreamily over the bluish surface of the water. He was naked, of course, and unashamedly so. As the bathroom door creaked open, Kanda made no effort to cover himself. His eyelids did peel apart, though, irises dark and hot as coal as he drank Allen in. 

A beat. Allen held on to door handle, hemming and hawing at the threshold — should he apologize for intruding? Did Kanda even care? After all, there wasn't anything here Allen hadn't already seen before. And _familiarized_ with himself. 

“Finally awake?” Kanda finally said, his tone of voice decidedly neutral. His expression was difficult to read, mostly because he was barely wearing one in the first place.

“Yeah,” Allen said. The air had a wet, damp taste, like a hothouse garden. There was the gentle burbling of water moving; Kanda shifting minutely in the tub. Deciding to take a conversational approach, Allen continued, “I was wondering where you'd went.”

“Well, you found me,” Kanda responded. There was a clipped, monotone quality to his answer. That was starting to make Allen nervous. Was Kanda... angry? Had he done something wrong? He couldn't think of anything he might've done, but all the same, a stab of panic went through him. It was him. It was definitely him.

“So I have,” Allen said. He smiled, an automatic response. His hand was still on the doorknob. “Definitely sorry about intruding, though. Especially while you're, you know,” he gestured casually over Kanda's naked form. Kanda didn't so much as blink. “Should I go?”

“You don't have to do that,” Kanda said.

“Oh,” Allen said. “Okay.”

Silence again. Kanda closed his eyes, tilting his back back against the rim. Allen stood and smiled dumbly, making a valiant effort to get his own nerves in check.

He'd wanted Kanda. And he'd wanted Link. Wanted the sex. But — he hadn't thought about what he wanted next, what he wanted afterwards. It would probably be better if he left. Kanda hardly seemed to care, one way or another. _Kanda's gotten what he wanted, he doesn't care._ That thought, that hurt, somehow, even though it shouldn't have.

Ah. Leave it to Allen to get attached far too quickly.

He stepped further into the steam, closing the door behind him. Masochist that he was.

The tessellated white tiles were pleasantly cool against Allen's bare feet, the thick air warm and pleasant on his skin. Standing a foot away from the tub, Allen could see the straining muscles in Kanda's thighs and calves, his cock soft against his leg beneath the water. There wasn't anything sexual in Kanda's nudity, but still, Allen couldn't take his eyes off of him. Kanda was beautiful. Almost mesmerizingly so. The lean, powerful shape of him, the sulky pull of his downturned mouth, even the little wrinkle of consternation in his brow. He looked peaceful, too, which wasn't a look Allen had ever seen on Kanda until now. Allen thought it was a little bit like watching a tiger or a feral wolf sleep. Something dangerous and powerful, very temporarily put to rest. It made him nervous. There was no knowing then the tiger would reawaken, or whether it would eat him alive.

Allen looked down. He probably looked like a dope, standing and smiling and saying nothing. But Kanda wasn't saying anything either. If anything, he seemed to be waiting.

“So, about last night...” Allen started. Kanda's eyes opened once more, coming to attention.

“Yes?”

“Well,” Allen stalled, the smile finally beginning to slip from his features. “Well, that is. You know.”

He tried to hike his smile back up, but immediately sensed it was coming off wrong — and Kanda noticed, too. His expectant, appraising eyes softened noticeably, and he shifted again, pulling his legs up towards his body.

“Do you wanna get in?”

“What?” Allen said, sure he'd misheard. Kanda lifted his shoulders into a vague shrug, displacing the water around him.

“Water's still warm, and you're probably grungy as fuck.”

All of a sudden, Allen was struck by the notion that Kanda was, at this point, just messing with him. And maybe he had been all along. He stiffened, discomfort temporarily replaced by a sullen prick of anger.

“I am not _grungy as fuck,_ ” he returned tartly, folding his arms defensively. Kanda rolled his eyes.

“Then don't get in, shit,” Kanda said. Then, all of a sudden, he seemed to stop short. He straightened up a little and blinked, like he had just realized something important. That realization, whatever it was, shook his whole disposition. The flat, neutral look occupying Kanda's eyes sputtered out, and was replaced by something... something that seemed downright sincere. “This is a genuine offer, not a, a come-on. I'm not trying to be an ass.”

“There's a first,” Allen bit back, testy. Kanda sank back into the tub, looking frustrated.

“Smartass,” he muttered, but there was no heat to it. “We don't have to do anything, I just thought...”

Allen looked down at his feet, at the tiled floor beneath them. They gleamed back glossy-wet. Pinpricks of condensation had settled over the white enamel, offering a dim sparkle in the admittedly faint light of the bathroom. He could feel the anger leaving him just as quickly as it had come. It was like someone had pulled a drainplug in him; he was being gutted, emptied.

What was left, in the end, was a bone-deep fatigue. He couldn't be angry at Kanda, not now. He just didn't have the energy.

So Allen turned around and slowly began unbuttoning his pants. Hooking his fingers under the waistband and tugging them back down over his legs, he took proper stock of his own body for the first time that day.

There were bruises on his hips. They stood out rather startlingly against the whiteness of his skin; long, purplish smears in the shape of fingers. He couldn't remember who had left them. Right then, he didn't really care.

He could feel Kanda's eyes on him as he stripped, drinking his body in with a lazy interest. Allen found himself enjoying the attention. And why shouldn't he? Kanda clearly had no interest in showing modesty. Why should Allen?

Unfazed by Kanda's open appreciation, he shucked himself of his underwear, padding cautiously over to the other side of the tub and swinging one leg over. The water _was_ warm. Irresistibly inviting. Slowly, Allen sank down to his waist.

The relief was near-instantaneous. Hot water sluiced over his legs and lapped up to his chest, soothing the aches in his calves, the post-sex sting in his hips.

“Oh,” he said thickly, sinking down to his shoulders. “This feels good.”

“Mm,” Kanda hummed. “Hate taking locker room showers. Always come out feeling like shit.”

“Baths are nicer,” Allen agreed dizzily. He spread his legs beneath the water and found them winding with Kanda's. The touch of skin on skin sent a minute shock of pleasure running up his spine.“Maybe I should make a habit of this.”

“Might do you some good.”

“It might,” Allen sighed, tucking his chin down into the water. The bathwater had a pleasantly perfume-like scent; semi-sweet and buttery and rose-gold. The hotel's soap, maybe, on Kanda's warm skin. From where he reclined at the other side of the tub, Kanda watched Allen. Allen was getting to know this look. It wasn't sex-hungry, and it wasn't angry, and it wasn't teasing or smug. If anything, he seemed to be waiting.

Allen lifted his head to level with Kanda's dark acid-blue stare.

“We really should talk about it, you know,” Allen said, drawing his skinny shoulders together. “Last night.”

Kanda hummed low in his throat. Beneath his own, Allen could feel Kanda's legs tense and untense.

“Fine,” he said. “Then let's talk about it.”

Allen looked down at his hands, vague and pale beneath the water. It was easier than looking at Kanda, and the specific fashion that water and sweat beaded down his toned chest.

“Well,” he demurred. All of a sudden, he felt very shy; a million times shyer than he'd felt while undressing. “I. I was just wondering if, if you...” He chanced a look up at Kanda. Mistake. Kanda's eyes were as immovably set as ever. “You're not making this any easier, you know.”

“Why should I?” Kanda asked. Allen laughed.

“Because, I don't know, because it would be _nice_ , or— ” He squirmed, and the water around him sloshed against the sides of the tub. “Sometimes, I really don't get you, Kanda.”

“You're saying that. To _me_.” Kanda shook his head in disbelief. “You're fucking _unfathomable_ , you know that?”

“Unfathomable?”

“Unfathomable,” Kanda repeated. He tapped his forefinger against the rim of the tub restlessly, brows drawn into a rather unpleasant-looking scowl. “You say the craziest fucking shit, but never anything that matters. I have no idea what the fuck's going through your head. Never do.”

A silence.

Quietly, Allen said, “I'm not used to talking about things that matter.”

“It's fine,” Kanda said. The tapping stopped. He turned his head to the side. He looked ashamed of himself. “Me neither.”

The water was beginning to cool down. It was making Allen desperate for the warmth of Kanda's body.

Allen folded his hands together and said, “I had a good time last night.” He paused, considering his own words. What they meant. “With you. With the both of you.”

“So did I,” Kanda agreed. His brows were drawn into a heavy frown, like the fact was a problem.

“Did I,” Allen started, hesitated, worked his thumbs together in a little spiral, then continued, “do good?”

Kanda just stared.

“You're seriously asking that?”

“Yeah,” Allen said. Then, “No. No, forget I said that.”

“Not a chance,” Kanda grinned. It was the first time Allen had seen him smile all day. But this wasn't a comforting smile. He didn't feel remotely close to comforted. He felt dumb. It had been a stupid question, after all.

Allen ducked his head, face flaring up with a luminescent blush.

“I just, um, what I _meant_ was—"

“Allen,” Kanda said. There was something consummately strange about hearing his name from Kanda's mouth. Allen went silent and looked up. “You did well. It was _good_.” Allen's stomach knotted up, blush deepened. It felt good, it felt good to _be_ good. Kanda let out a breath that might've been a sigh, sinking down against the side of the bath. “It was really fucking good,” he continued, voice heavy with restless malcontent, with hurt. “Haven't had sex that good since— well.”

Allen knew this look. This bitterness, this regret, this frustration — and who Kanda reserved them for.

“Since you first met Link,” he interpreted quietly. Then, emboldened, “Since you first fucked Link."

Kanda's left hand twitched, as if it wanted a cigarette very badly. 

“Who's to say he didn't fuck me?”

“Did he?” Allen asked. Kanda shook his head, wry.

“No. But I would've let him.”

“What was it like?” Allen pulled his knees up towards his chest and wrapped both arms around them, leaning forwards. “Fucking Link?”

“Like fighting a war,” Kanda said. “What was it like, being fucked by Link?”

“Like surrendering.”

Kanda's eyes narrowed, midnight blue to nightmare-black.

“And being fucked by me?”

Allen looked up at the ceiling. The water was too cold, now. He could feel gooseflesh prickling over his bare shoulders.

“It felt... like I'd was being claimed.”

“And you enjoyed it,” Kanda said. A question disguised as a statement. Allen hesitated, stop-started, then nodded. Slow.

“Yes. I did.”

“Good,” Kanda said. He looked a bit embarrassed, which... was pretty cute, actually. Allen smiled. He felt he was beginning to understand Kanda a little better.

“I suppose Link is at rehearsal.”

“Yeah,” Kanda said roughly. His embarrassment faded, and that curious bitterness-coloured-by-longing took hold once again. “Just as well. This goddamn bathtub can hardly fit two people, forget about three.”

Allen snorted gracelessly.

“Was that a joke? An actual joke?” He asked, lifting both hands out of the water to cover his own face.

Kanda scowled, and slapped a hand across the water to send a splash in Allen's direction. Allen's smile widened.

“God, you're such a bitch,” he said fondly. Something like adoration burst in his chest, catching him off guard. He didn't fight it, though. Just let it burn there, warming him like a furnace lamp.

“You're one to talk,” Kanda bit back.

“No way,” Allen purred, stretching his legs back out. He flashed Kanda a grin. “I'm _wonderful_.”

“You're a fucking bleeding-heart _lunatic_.”

“This again? Well, you're a douchebag who tastes like an ashtray.”

“Oh, bite me.”

“That's _my_ line,” Allen reminded Kanda, smile turning sly. “Hold on.”

Allen curled his hands around the lip of the tub, and then, navigating his legs beneath his body so that he was kneeling, he dipped his head down below the surface of the water. He only stays under for a second, emerging with a quiet gasp, water running down his neck. For just a moment, his eyes shut and face cresting from the bath, he feels alive and he really does feel wonderful. He loves how Kanda takes him in, his dripping wet, naked body, his saucy little smile. A bead of water dripped down from Allen's fringe and slid down his face like a tear; he couldn't have felt less like crying, though.

“Fuck this,” Kanda said roughly. “C'mere.”

He reached out for Allen's hand, tugging him forwards across the tub and into his lap. The water around them surged, some of it spilling over the lip and splashing down onto the floor at the sudden motion. Allen giggled, knees naturally settling around Kanda's hips.

“Hey, you're gonna make a mess,” he chastised without any real reproach. He suddenly felt deeply and acutely aware of their nudity, of Kanda's body. He spied a glance down at Kanda's cock, and noticed it twitch between his legs. It sent a thrill through him.

“A mess? I'd like to make a mess of you,” Kanda said against Allen's ear. Allen shivered, grasping blindly at Kanda's shoulders, holding on for dear life.

“What... happened to not doing anything?” Allen asked, helpless. Kanda's hands settled on Allen's waist — and then fell away, down over his ass, thumbing over the bruises on his hips. Slowly, his hand went to wrap around the base of Allen's cock — Allen let out a little gasp, squirming closer.

“You want me to stop?”

“ _God_ , no.”

“Good,” Kanda grinned. Then, he leaned it, pressed his mouth to Allen's. His kiss was delicate and careful, but _hungry_. A slow-burning, simmering thing. Allen shivered, shifting in excitement over Kanda's lap, lukewarm water lapping at his stomach, sloshing over the edge and to the white-tiled floor. This time, he didn't think about the mess. More pressing was Kanda's hand, gliding smooth and wet and slow over his length, the insistent press of Kanda's tongue into his mouth, and Kanda's own cock, half-hard between his legs.

“How's that feel, baby?” Kanda stroked up along Allen's short cock, and Allen whined with pleasure. He felt Kanda give his ass a gentle squeeze with his free hand. “Good, yeah?”

“ _Yeees_ ,” Allen keened, drawing out the sibilant until he lost breath. His eyes fluttered shut in pleasure.

“I bet you're still loose from last night,” Kanda noted, _preened_. “You liked that, being passed between us?” He thumbed over the head of Allen's cock, his touch hard and deliberate and so painfully, torturous slow and not enough. He stroked back down again, cupping Allen's cock with one hand, leaving Allen wracked with tremulous gasps as he thrusted forwards to fuck into the ring of Kanda's hand. “Shit, yeah. You're insatiable, aren't you? We could've kept doing you all night, and you would've loved it. 

“Want you,” Allen said, mindless, senseless, head lolling down to rest on Kanda's shoulder, “rightnowightnow, _fuck_ , _please_.”

“Want me?” Kanda laughed. “Want me to _what_?”

“Fuck me like you did,” Allen swallowed hard around a mouthful of saliva. “Like you did last night. Fill me up. I want it so fucking bad, I'm going—”

And then, as Allen struggled to slide ever closer, Kanda was pulling away. He pushed off of Allen's chest, pushing him further back into the tub. Allen blinked hard, at first only confused—  then, as Kanda began to stand up and climb out of the tub, he was hit with a stab of worry.

“Where y' going?” He said, the words climbing out of his throat with a strange slurriness. Kanda rolled his eyes.

“Not gonna fuck you without lube, idiot,” he said. He pinned Allen with a heated look, one that had him rubbing his thighs together in anticipation. “You wanna do it in the bedroom, or here?”

“Right here,” Allen said. He leaned back against the lip of the tub, slow, heavy breaths rolling out of him. “Wanna ride you, dripping-wet.”

“God, you're filthy,” Kanda leaned, pressing a quick kiss to Allen's forehead. “Filthy, filthy fuckin' angel.”

He grabbed a towel, then, and slipped out the door and into the bedroom. Allen crossed his legs together, hands wandering between his own thighs, listening with a squirming anticipation as Kanda cursed and rummaged about on the other side of the door.

He didn't much like being left alone. He was starting to miss Link.

“Ah, fuck,” Kanda said, as he appeared back in the door, rough, long hands curling around the mull post. “We didn't use condoms last night. Should I grab—”

“Oh my God, _enough,_ ” Allen said. He beckoned Kanda forwards with his eyes, looking up through the thick, dewy fan of his lashes; a coquettish, possibly feminine look. “Get over here.”

“You don't like to be kept waiting, do you?” Kanda snorted, but he obeyed. He dropped a clear bottle of lube on the other side of the tub. Allen could see his fingers already were already slick and glistening. “Such a _brat_.” Pulling Allen back up into his lap, he leaned forwards and pressed a shockingly tender kiss to Allen's cheekbone — right over the jagged outline of his scar. It sent a heady rush through Allen, that touch, one that had very little to do with sex.

“I'm gonna kill you if you give me HPV or something,” Kanda went on, at odds with his own gentleness. Allen frowned, reaching around the jab at his ribs.

“And _you're_ gonna kill my boner if you keep talking about HPV,” he said loftily. Then, thinking it through, “I'm clean, though.”

“Okay, okay,” Kanda said. His hands slid down Allen's spine, holding him by the small of his back. “Spread your legs.”

Allen was all too eager to comply, and Kanda laughed.

“Oh, impatient, are we?"

“If I am, it's only because you make me so,” Allen said breathlessly. He reached forwards to hold Kanda's cock between tight fingers, squeezing the head with coy hands to push a bead of glassy fluid from the tip. Biting his lip, Allen watched as it swelled and slipped down, catching the droplet on his thumb. He thought of the way it had felt inside him last night, hot and hard and rough. How it would feel to bounce up and down it, to sit on his cock right down to the base.

“I hear patience is a virtue,” Kanda said, a the smug curl of a snarl in his words.

“You've never been virtuous a day of your life,” Allen kissed the divet between Kanda's mouth and nose, loving the shape of him, the lush shape of those lips. “And neither have I. That's the secret, Kanda, I'm just —  _ah!_ ”

Allen whimpered as Kanda slid a finger into him, needy against Kanda's mouth. Moving through the water, Kanda pressed in without pause but not so hard as to hurt unduly. He circled the muscle, widening it, pumping in and out slowly just to hear Allen's voice break higher, sweeter. Allen blushed all the way down to the curve of his ass, bright red and ripe, squirming back against Kanda's fingers as he panted and cursed against Kanda's lips.

Kanda was strategic in finger-fucking Allen open. He was firm, relentless, pausing only to stretch as wide as he could and feel Allen's muscles give to him, accompanied by a trembling moan. He grazed over Allen's prostate very once, the touch as deliberate as anything; a taste of what was to come. Allen rocked back against Kanda's fingers eagerly, chasing that sensation. Despite the cool bathwater, he suddenly felt fever-hot; he was burning up, body working overtime.  
  
“Me and Link, we should try taking you at the same time,” Kanda said, low and dark and _dangerous_. “See how wide we can stretch you.” Another stroke over Allen's prostate. This one had Allen buckling forwards, fingernails digging hard into Kanda's back as he let out a long moan. “Link's pretty big, though. And you get so _tight_ when you're being fucked proper. Wouldn't wanna break you.”

“No,” Allen said, “No, do it, I want it, I _want_ it.”

“Course you do,” Kanda pressed pressed a kiss to Allen's temples. “We could wreck you so good, baby. _Shit_.”

“I'm ready now,” Allen said. He canted his hips upwards, away from Kanda's fingers, reaching blindly to grasp at Kanda's cock again. “I'm ready now, okay? I need—”

“C'mon,” Kanda's breath rasped against Allen's neck. “If you want it, _take_ it.”

That was Allen needed to hear. Eager, he sat up and kneeled closer to Kanda, head ducked and eyes hooded. Slowly, perhaps reverently, he stroked his scarless hand up the length of Kanda's cock. Allen loved the way Kanda felt, then, slippery and hot, twitching against Allen's fingers. He stroked once, twice, reveling in the way Kanda's breathing deepened. The way it quickened.

Then, he was shifting to press Kanda's cock between his own legs. He teased the head of Kanda's cock between his ass cheeks, just behind his balls, biting his own lip at how good it felt to have him there. He felt wrecked from just that, just the fucking pressure.

Slowly, slow enough to ache, he sank down.

A sweet, soft sound of need was pulled from Allen's lips before he even had a chance to hold it back. Allen shifted down, taking Kanda down carefully to the hilt. It felt good, felt so entirely, perfectly good. It was wet and hot, water flooding up to his ribs, Kanda's cock pressing into him hard and slow. Kanda's eyes had hooded partially, his throat working around a low swear that only managed to get Allen even hotter. Incensed, Allen started to move.

Kanda's hands found their way onto Allen's hips, thighs rigid as he rocked up into Allen's heat, raising as Allen lowered, burying himself deep enough that the coarse hair at his groain rubbed against Allen's pale, silky skin. With one hand, Allen held on to Kanda's shoulder like a lifeline; with the other, he kept himself open, fingertips touching Kanda's stiff shaft as he entered him, again and again.

It was a rough fucking, and a demanding one. Probably rougher than could be recommended. An adagio dancer's body was, after all, less a body than it was a slim, delicate piece of machinery. His hip ligaments were looser; limbs thinner and longer and more easily extended. All the same, he liked it. Liked being fucked hard and fast, harder than his glass-and-silk ballet body could handle. He felt like something that could be broken down in Kanda's hands; something that could be consumed, destroyed.

(And it was Link, beautiful _Link_ who was so skilled in remaking him.)

He cried out as Kanda's cock struck his prostate dead-on, overwhelmed by pleasure. He thrusted back down blindly, needing it againagainagainagain, needing Kanda, please, again, don't stop, oh my God, oh God oh God I feel yes yes _yes_.

He squeezed his eyes shut as Kanda wrapped his hand around the bob of his cock, jerking it up and down—

Something as bright as a star burst inside Allen's belly. With a helpless keen, he buried his face against Kanda's neck, Kanda's cock filling him to the brim.

And he let go.

It took some time for them to recollect themselves. To find presence of mind. For a long while, they simply held one another. It was all Allen could think to do, at least. All that he really _wanted_.

Kanda's come dripped sticky from inside Allen, running down his thighs, dirtying the bathwater. Allen's own release clung to his belly and Kanda's hand, untouched by the waters below.

Kanda was slow in easing out of Allen. Gentle, really. It was an appreciated gentleness; one that Allen was increasingly coming to crave from Kanda. As if to make up for the emptiness, the loss of him, Allen pressed in closer to Kanda's arms. This strange, wonderful creature. Allen's jet-black raven boy, whose love came at the price of violence.

 _No price is too phigh,_ Allen thought as Kanda's lips met his neck, trailing kisses down to the line of his collarbones. _Let him break me, I will take it, I will pay it._

“You're... surprisingly affectionate, at times,” Allen said hazily, reaching up to cup Kanda's cheek. He shouldn't have spoken. The moment the word _affectionate_ left his mouth, the kisses ceased. Kanda turned his face away, out of Allen's hand.

“Shut up.”

“I never said I didn't like it,” Allen said. He _had_ liked it. He had liked it very much. His skin felt cold and lonely without Kanda's kisses. “Go on.”

Kanda still wouldn't look at him. He was embarrassed, Allen realized.

“We should clean off,” he said instead, gaze still stubbornly fixed the opposite wall.

“Isn't that what we were doing?” Allen pointed out, gesturing around them; the cool, soapy-smelling bathwater, the water still dripping from their hair, their lashes.

“Yeah. and we did a pretty shitty job of it,” Kanda huffed, and Allen grinned. The release speckled against his stomach was proof enough of that. He reached to the side of the tub, fishing for a damp cloth and a slim travel-sized bottle of soap. “Let's do better this time.”

In the end, they drained the tub and rinsed off with the showerhead. There was a special kind of intimacy in this, in the plain, sexlessness of bathing. Kanda helped soap Allen up, wiping the spend from his thighs and stomach while Allen giggled and made wry comments. A handful managed to make Kanda blush. The rest earned him a half-punitive, half-playful little pinch on the ass.

Though Allen loved Link's delicacy, his focus, the precision and earnestness of his affections, there was something sweet in this, too. Something warm and earthy and real about Kanda's clumsy, bullish shows of care. The kisses, the soap, the steady hand at Allen's back.

Lyricism, syncopation.

Allen thought he might like to dance with Kanda. And he thought he might like it if Kanda kept kissing him, even after they'd left this room, even tomorrow. He thought much the same about Link. And ah, there, there was where the trouble began.

They escaped the bathroom, Allen hunting his clothes off the floor, Kanda walking out to his dresser with a towel around his waist. 

As he redressed, Allen watched the muscles in Kanda's back shift and shiver as he moved about the room. Allen loved Kanda's back. It was taut and broad, and most of an all, an exquisite sight when he danced. His glossy black hair was plastered flat against it, looking for all the world as though it had been painted on.

Gorgeous, inscrutable Kanda, so charmingly, brutally inured to all the sentiment and the hyperdrama of dance.

Allen's joy began to fade from him.

“What's going on here, exactly?” He asked. He looked down, fiddling with the zipper of his day-old jeans. “I'm just — I'm just confused.”

Kanda was quiet for several long seconds. Allen heard the sound of the dresser door thudding shut.

“We had sex.”

“Sex,” Allen repeated. The word echoed through him, too heavy. He reached for his socks, pulling them slowly over his cold feet. “Okay. Is that all?”

Fabric sounds. Allen looked up. Kanda was standing in his plain black sports leggings, yanking a loose white shirt down over his head. Dance clothes. He was changing into his dance clothes.

“I don't know,” he said.

“You don't know.”

This came out all wrong, too much like an accusation. A muscle worked in Kanda's jaw, angry or offended or afraid.

“Do you?” Kanda asked. He still wouldn't meet Allen's eye. He started gathering his long hair up to tie into a ponytail.

“No,” Allen said, gaze slipping back down his lap, to his thighs, the sheets below. Just a few hours ago, the three of them had kissed and laughed and whispered through the darkness like children on curfew. “But I'd like to figure it out.”

Kanda turned around, eyes as hard and as blue and as cut as costume jewels. They assessed Allen with some special, fervent understanding.

“What do you see in Link, Allen?” He asked. The distance between the two of them suddenly seemed immeasurable; Kanda standing by his dresser, Allen sitting neatly at the foot of the bed. It felt as though they were speaking across borders. “Honest fucking question.”

Allen went back to looking at his hands, the whitish-pink of his nails, the way scar tissue wound itself messily over the left. He twisted his fingers together, much too obvious in his anxiety. He didn't try to smile his way out of it, this time. Call that an improvement.

He thought of Link. Desperate, pleading Link, lips on Allen's knuckles. Leave it to a prince to kneel and kiss your hand. His sharp brown eyes, pretty when they caught the light, but even prettier in perfect darkness. Whisper-gentle. _Sleep, Allen._

“Someone kind,” Allen said. “Intelligent. Loyal, in the sweet, sometimes pathetic way that dogs are loyal.” He smoothed his hands down over his legs. “Someone... who isn't free. Handsome, though.” He looked back up. Kanda hadn't moved an inch. “And what is he to you?”

A derisive snort.

“An endless source of frustration.”

“That's not all,” Allen said, careful.

Something in Kanda's expression broke; a wall falling. It took only a moment to throw it back up, not even a second, but it was a second too late; Allen had seen it. And he'd seen that he was right. Shame made Kanda restless, made him irate. He paced across the room with a heavy, too-quick tread, swinging the fridge open in one hard gesture.

“You hungry? I've got — hm,” Kanda frowned at the contents. “I've got beer.”

“I'm gonna have to pass.”

“Hmph.” Kanda slammed the fridge back shut. He stood in front of it for several seconds, one of his hands jumping up to fiddle with the end of his still-damp ponytail. “What am I to you?”

_I have an idea, if you're up for making an old mistake new again._

“Someone _completely_ free,” Allen said softly. “Like nobody I've ever met. I'm not sure I'd like to be so untethered. It seems lonely.” Framed against the window, backlit by the morning light, he really did seem a passing shadow. There was a subtle sadness in that. Allen tried for a smile. This smile was for Kanda's sake, not his own. “Mostly, I think you're an ass. But I'm interested in you, despite my better judgement.” 

“And you're interested in Link,” Kanda temporized. He took a step closer, coaxed, as wild animals must be coaxed.

“I am.”

Kanda took another step closer.

“And are... are you free?” He asked, eyes darting across the room.

“I have my chains,” Allen said. “They just don't look anything like Link's.”

Finally, finally, Kanda came to the foot of the bed. He sat down next to Allen. There was a relief in that, the weight of his body, its depression against the mattress.

Allen really, really couldn't stand being left alone.

“I don't know what's going on here,” Allen said, voice cutting all wrong, too high, too thin, something poised to break, “and I'm not entirely sure what I want. But, um. I'm pretty sure you and Link are a pretty big part of it. The _both_ of you, I mean. And. I guess I'm hoping it doesn't end here.” He laughed nervously. “So, there.”

 _Word vomit, word vomit._ All too possible that this was his mistake. Suddenly, Allen felt frantic to leave, to escape. His fingers itched for his phone. What time was it? It didn't matter—  there was no time for this, no time at all. He had to get back home somehow, grab his rehearsal things, meet Cross at the studio for their already post-poned session, somehow cram a coffee into the next hour—

He realized then that Kanda had taken his hand. 

His cheeks had flushed bright red, and he was biting his lip, looking more than a little angry with himself. Allen's lips twitched upwards into a smile. One that was totally and completely natural.

For all his virtuosity and his brutality and his reckless sex appeal, when it came to affection, Kanda could be so strangely tentative, like a creature who had forgotten how to love, who was only now beginning to remember.

“Not gonna say anything?” Allen prompted, smile widening into a grin. Kanda looked away, furious.

“Fuck no,” he bit out. Then, regretfully, “I'm not good at talking.”

“Dance it out or something, then.”

This little throwback wasn't lost on Kanda, who let out a short, harsh laugh.

“Dancing feels better than talking. Always fucking does.”

He squeezed Allen's hand lightly, demure but electric; innocent but wrought with intent.

“You have me,” he continued, raw, “if that's what you want. As for Link...”

Kanda closed his eyes. Allen smiled sadly.

“Another story entirely, I know,” he agreed. He angled his body towards Kanda's, leaning forwards to press a chaste kiss to his temple. “He cares for you. I know it.”

“Bullshit.” Kanda laced his fingers through Allen's.

“He does,” Allen said, speaking against Kanda's skin, warm and sweet. How simple it all seemed, just then. He felt as though he was shining, buzzing with light. “Don't worry. It'll all work itself out. It'll work out for the three of us, yeah. I'm sure of it.”

Kanda opened his eyes again. His gaze landed on Allen and stayed there, prickling his skin, buttressing him. His eyes were filled with doubt; he didn't believe Allen. That was alright. It would all be alright. Allen had enough hope for the both of them. He had enough hope for all three of them, Link included.

Enough hope to kill himself with.

 

**Author's Note:**

> a very yullen-centric continuation, oops. but that _was_ just about the weakest dynamic in the original story. not a proper ending, either. i'll get around to one of those one day. also, for bri, because bri was curious about how this story continued! :0
> 
> please practice safe sex, don't be these dumbdumbs.
> 
> fuckhowardlink @ twitter  
> hurryupfic @ tumblr


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